


i guess it would be nice if i could touch your body

by glitteration



Series: search myself, i want you to find me [1]
Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: F/M, I AM SO PROUD OF THAT STUPID JOKE OKAY, a wild bisexual benedict appears, benedict bridgerton is the bury a body friend, bless his heart his life is v stressful, exit; pursued by a brother, he will wingman the SHIT OUT OF YOU, i am honestly unsure how to tag this, i repeat: this show BROKE ME, nobody touches more than a knee in this what is wrong with me, super gentle fancy people dirty talk, this is ridiculous i am so sorry, whereas anthony bridgerton is... he is trying really hard okay, will someone please get daphne a copy of our bodies ourselves or something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28449366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: “I think…” Simon comes to stand behind her, so close he would be able to sense the rapid beat of her heart, if only he cared for such things. “That I do not want to talk about Lady Danbury.”“Then whatdoyou want to talk about?”“Did you do it?”“Did I do it?” she repeats, bemused. “Did I do what?”“Did you touch yourself, the way we spoke about?”At a ball shortly after The Masturbation Conversation, Simon checks back in to see how that all went. For science, you know. Or maybe feminism? Or greater justice, he's not entirely sure.Daphne, meanwhile, could really fucking use access to google or less weirdo male pride in her life. Either/or.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Series: search myself, i want you to find me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085306
Comments: 41
Kudos: 550





	i guess it would be nice if i could touch your body

**Author's Note:**

> Adding another ball at Lady Danbury's between the JOI interlude and the shit hitting the fan because fuck you canon timelines I do what I want, and what I want is to write oddly tame filth where absolutely no naughty touching occurs.
> 
> Look, the heart wants what it wants.

Daphne does all she can to avoid giving Simon any indication she had taken his whispered advice. He will be smug, so _terribly_ smug, and he will only take it as encouragement to continue saying such scandalous things to her.

She is resolved. They shall carry on as they have since, in shared good faith and pretense. The husband she seeks must eventually present himself, and he will be the one to show her the things that follow what happens at night. _He_ will bring her to the pinnacle Simon spoke of.

The odd disquiet that follows the thought does not signify. It cannot signify. She must marry, and he has expressed his disdain for the sacrament often enough. She must, he will not. And thus, any dissatisfaction must settle into place and resign itself, as she must resign herself to a great many things, including the constant presence of her self-appointed shadow. Anthony is in attendance tonight as he has been every night of late, glowering from a corner after Simon claims his second dance. She does not _see_ him shove Benedict her way, but his face as he leads her to the floor tells the story well enough.

Benedict is a fine dancer. All her brothers are, mother would not countenance otherwise. But after Simon… he is her brother. He does not hold her a touch too close. He does not smile as if he knows all her secrets, and he does not make her heart race.

“Daph? Daph, are you feeling alright?” Benedict’s brow furrows in gentle concern. “You seem a world away, sister. I hope I have not proved too terrible a partner.”

“No. No, you are a _delightful_ partner.”

“Just not the partner you would like to be delighting, then?” He nods subtly towards Simon. “Perhaps you long for someone more… ducal? Dashingly handsome, a little bit rakish…”

“ _Benedict_!” They spin away, and on the next turn back Daphne steps firmly on his toes in revenge.

“No one would blame you for finding him attractive. I certainly do not. He cuts a fine figure, and I am not too proud to claim otherwise.” He chuckles. “I know we all look quite alike, but I am not Anthony.”

“No, you are _not_ ,” she says, thinking of Nigel Berbrooke and feeling another surge of frustration down to her toes. “And in this moment I could not be more grateful for that.”

Benedict looks over at their eldest brother, a hovering presence fixated on Simon now that he thinks she is safely tucked away with another Bridgerton male. He laughs again, softly. “Go easy on him, hmm? You know he tries.”

“He tries too hard. And he does not listen enough.”

“Well, that is also true. Not much of one for a lark these days, our Anthony. Which reminds me, we were talking about your duke.”

“He is not my duke.”

“Oh? You might want to tell him that. He is positively enraptured with you, sister. I would wager he has not looked away from you once since you left his arms.”

 _Oh_ , how Daphne longs for that to be true. “We are getting to know each other, that is all,” she says to Benedict, pushing that same bitter unrest from thinking about a husband who is not Simon back into its box. “Do not tell mother, but I doubt we shall make a match.”

“If you say so.” The music sounds the familiar notes that signal their dance will soon come to an end, and Benedict shoots her a sly smile. “Does that mean if I were to distract our well-meaning but entirely overbearing brother so that you might take a walk with him, you would not take the chance?”

“I…” Daphne’s breath catches. “Would you, Benedict? Truly?”

“Of course. You leave this to me, sister.” He pauses, a small frown marring his mischievous air. “You will be careful, Daph? I feel I should ask, if I am to enable this sort of misbehavior.”

“Of course.”

“Then it is settled. How foolish of me to even consider otherwise. You have always had a good head on your shoulders, we all know it. Anthony will remember that, too. Eventually.” He bows elaborately, murmuring as he rises, “Head for the terrace. I can keep him occupied while you make your escape.”

“How will Simon—I mean, how should the duke know—”

“Daph, trust me. If a man is looking at you like that… where you go, he will follow. Now, wish me luck. Time to beard the proverbial lion in his den.”

The night air is cool on the terrace. It makes her wish for her shawl, but there is only so much that can be done to put Anthony off following her like a hound baying for the hunt now that he believes Simon is courting her. If she attempts to retrieve it, he will see her, and she will not speak to Simon again, not after two dances. Anthony might go so far as to drag her off the floor, should they attempt a third dance. It is not too cold to be borne, not after she sits on the bench helpfully set in a recess away from the doors, so that those on the bench may take advantage of precious extra moments to scramble apart if need be.

The thought of that—of what couples do, on benches such as these, of what she and Simon could do on _this_ bench—

Her next inhale is shaky. Her gloves shine white in the dark and she stares at them, watching her hands make fists and relax as the little she knows about what happens past the stolen kisses between children too young to understand what kissing would one day lead to runs through her mind.

Daphne is still examining her hands when it happens so she does not see Simon exit the ballroom, but she feels him like the promise of rain in the air before a storm bursts. She knows he is there. She could not stop if she tried.

“Am I imagining things, or did your other brother just drag Anthony off by the ear so that we might have a moment alone together?” He comes to a stop by her side. “Is this a hidden rendezvous, Daphne? _My_. What an accommodating brother you have. I suppose Anthony must take after the family mule, and Benedict your lovely mother?”

“That is my brother you are talking about, sir.” She cannot hold a serious face, not when she is still too put out with Anthony to waste precious seconds of their time alone on defending his honor. “You _are_ scandalous. Perhaps I told him I needed to take the air. The ballroom is stifling, do you not think so? Lady Danbury must be pleased, it will be all Whistledown talks of tomorrow.”

“I think…” Simon sits beside her, nearly touching, so close he would be able to sense the rapid beat of her heart if only he cared for such things. “That I do not want to talk about Lady Danbury.”

He truly is an impossible man. She does not tap her foot impatiently, but it is a near thing. “Then what _do_ you want to talk about?”

The air between them becomes heavier with his pause, spinning around the mere breath still between their bodies like invisible hands attempting to catch hold of one another and bridge the gap. Perhaps it is only foolish, wishful thinking, but it seems to Daphne he is as caught up as she in their pull. “Did you do it?”

“Did I do it?” she repeats, bemused. “Did I do what?”

“Did you touch yourself, the way we spoke about?” She gasps, and he chuckles. “You did. You do not need to deny it, I will not reproach you. There is no shame in such an act. Only… pleasure. When done right.”

“I…” She is entirely overwhelmed. She no longer needs a shawl; she is so warm her dress may burst into flame if Simon continues to say these things. “ _Simon_.”

“Daphne. Sweet girl.” He strokes one finger over her shoulder. The touch burns through her gown and down to the skin and below to her blood, blood that sings of something dangerous he might do for her. Something… primal. Instinctive.

She should be frightened. She is not. She is something else entirely, something she has not yet been given a name for.

“ _Simon_ ,” she says again, and she does not recognize the woman who speaks with her voice. That woman knows what these feelings mean, she must, for she is not asking Simon to explain these things to her. She is _demanding_.

He makes a low, tight sound that calls to something low in her in return. “Did you do it right, Daphne? Was there pleasure?”

“Yes.” The world wavers a bit on each inhale, the lights in the garden swaying on their own as if she has had too much champagne. “ _Oh_ ,” she whispers, breath coming faster. “Simon, I…”

“Tell me what you did.” Simon sounds gruff, but the woman who has stolen her throat and spoken for her says it is not because he is angry. “Where did you touch yourself? When you were alone in your bed, no one to see you. No one to judge, just... what you want. What feels best. Did you touch yourself between your legs, Daphne? Like I told you to?”

“Y-yes.” The same heat she’d felt alone in bed grows again in her belly, and the strange embarrassing outpouring of wet, thin slick begins to pool at her center and make itself known when she shifts restlessly, all at once unable to be still. “And my breasts.”

“Oh, you brilliant thing,” Simon breathes out, shifting restlessly himself. His knee brushes her own, and after a tense moment he does not pull it away. Instead, he leans into the point of contact, pressing closer. “Over your nightclothes, Daphne? Or did you slip your hand beneath? It feels much better that way, darling. Warm skin on warm skin… skin as soft as yours, I…” He coughs, breaking off suddenly, voice thick as though he inhales steam and not air. “Tell me, please? I know I should not ask, but… I need…”

“Yes,” she breathes out, and cannot believe she has done it. Something about the dark and the night and his voice, the way he is so close and in this moment, so absolutely _wonderful_. All of a sudden she feels as though she could laugh. “Simon, I… I feel…”

“I know. And I—” He falls silent, breathing so loud it becomes all she can hear. "You should do that again tonight. And when your hand is between your thighs, where you need to be touched most…” She hears his throat click on a long swallow. “If you like, you can slip a finger inside yourself. Two, if you find pleasure in that, as well.”

“In-inside? That will not hurt?”

“Were you wet?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That night. Were you wet, between your legs?”

“...oh. Yes. Is _that_ why that happens? I thought perhaps something was wrong.”

“The things they do not teach you girls... “ He shakes his head. “Yes, darling. That is your body readying itself. If a man is worth being made a husband, he will pay special attention to that.” His voice becomes lower, soft like velvet. “You must be slow at first. Gentle with yourself, until you yield and your body welcomes being filled.”

“And then?”

“Daphne…”

“Simon. When my… when I have put… after that. When I have done it. What should I do then?”

“Whatever you like. Anything that brings you pleasure.”

“I don’t _know_ what brings me pleasure, that is at the root of all this! Simon, please.” She seizes hold of his sleeve. “Please, tell me. When I have…” she inhales, gathering the courage to repeat his instructions. “When I have put my fingers inside myself, and I… once my body yields. What do I do then?” Simon licks his lips and Daphne follows the motion with rapt attention, heartbeat so loud in her own ears she thinks half-hysterically that everyone inside must be able to hear, but she does not _care_. “Please, Simon. Tell me what I do then.”

“Daphne?” Anthony’s voice is as bracing as a basin of cold water tossed over them both. Daphne pulls her knee away from Simon’s and he stands just as both her brothers round the corner. Benedict looks harried but that likely has nothing to do with her, for Anthony looks downright _apoplectic_ and strains at Benedict’s calming hand on his shoulder.

“Sister.” He grimaces, grinding his back teeth in the furious way he has taken up of late. “Hastings. I believe mother is looking for you, Daphne. Time to come inside.” He looks again at Simon, and though his words are directed at Daphne it is clear she is not the one he is speaking to. “ _Now_. With me.”

“Of course, brother.” She takes his extended arm under the guise of politeness, but her knees are still so weak she is not sure she can stand. He relaxes minutely when she does, unbending from his lofty position enough to give her a soft look of brotherly concern. The glimpses of the gentle boy he had been when father was alive come too rarely, now, and it serves well enough to cool her ire along with her ardor. “It is time for it, as I believe the air has much refreshed me.”

“ _Hmm_ ,” Anthony says, as though he does not like even the idea of air infringing upon his right to interrupt the most important moments of his siblings lives with very little regard for how much one of those siblings in particular needs to understand what happens after a woman… she cannot think it, not with Anthony standing there. “Well then. Shall we?”

It is clear enough Anthony would prefer she did not say goodbye at all, but to leave without saying anything feels cruel. Simon is watching Anthony, but his eyes fly to her with gratifying speed when she addresses him. “Thank you for the lovely conversation, Your Grace. I do hope we shall be able to continue it soon? I must know what comes next in that fascinating story you were telling me.”

“I do not know what the two of you are talking about,” Anthony says abruptly, “but I know I do not like it. Hastings, do not answer her. Daphne, _inside_.”

“You will call on me tomorrow, won’t you?” she calls over her shoulder as Anthony uses their linked arms to tug her away and back into the ballroom. “I really do need to know what comes next!”

Simon does not answer; or if he does, it is lost in the hushed roar of the party. But it does not matter. Mother saves her from Anthony, and the rest of the party is little more than a blur.

Before she marries, Simon _will_ tell her what happens next. She is sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I was supposed to be finishing the second chapter of i'll go anywhere blindly and there is a 60/40 chance I still get that all edited and up before bed, but this sort of popped full formed into my head and demanded I write it down, so... I did. I don't have anything written for an amped up filthier sequel to this just yet and should finish the aforementioned other fic I should also be finishing now and am not, oops! but I will probably end up doing a sequel, too, because now that I type this I have already begun to get ideas for what that could look like.~~
> 
> Lol aaaaaaand it's a whole planned out series now oops
> 
> Everything is Bridgerton fandom and nothing hurts, etc etc etc.


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